


Temperance

by Dulcidyne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Early Relationship, F/M, Kissing, NSFW, Over the Clothes, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcidyne/pseuds/Dulcidyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Shot. After weeks apart, Cullen’s self restraint is tested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temperance

It was still dark and the candles had burned low into puddles of tallow when he woke, heart skidding and shuddering in beats too fast and too erratic. He lurched forward and in the sputtering death throes of candlelight, the tower room flickered and pulsed. Cullen paused, waiting for the shadows to recede back into the dusty corners as his pulse steadied into a rhythmic thrum of pain at his temple. Closing his eyes against the murky transfigurations of what should have been solid floors and a less-than solid ceiling, he loosened his grasp slowly from the leather-bound grip of his dagger. Fingers protested the movement, gone stiff and unresponsive as if trapped in death rigor. He pried them up anyway and let the weapon fall to the mattress.

One of these days, he would slice his hand open. But he was not in the habit of being unarmed, even while sleeping. A dagger under the pillow was his concession to the ever-present danger still lurking beyond and within the deceptively safe stones of Skyhold.  And only paces away, his sword and shield gleamed on a chair, reflecting burnished images of candlelight in their silver surfaces.

His shirt clung, the linen damp with perspiration and rapidly cooling as wind wicked through the gaping hole in his ceiling. The coverlet and sheets heaped on the dusty floorboards in violent tangles, leaving him bare and shivering. But the cold chased away the last bleary whispers of sleep in mere seconds, leaving him startlingly awake. Which was how Cullen preferred things.

It was not so early as he thought. The arrow slit set in the stone provided more accurate detail of the sky as it lingered between night and the first hints of late winter dawn. Cullen scrutinized the winding path leading through the glaciers to the gates, rubbing his fingertips over the stone as if to banish a phantom sensation--or conjure one up. Shaking his head ruefully, he finally stepped away.

He dressed, not putting much care into the process. It was early enough that he would be able to avoid all the other poor bastards without the luxury of private wash tubs and a supply of water from the kitchens, but still late enough that the washroom would begin boiling water for the linens just coming out of the lye baths. He slipped the dagger into his boot and pulled his cloak on over his shirt, the silk and fur fringe a strange contrast with the rough homespun linen.

As he opened the door to the battlements winter air rushed past him, whirling eddies carrying the distinctive buzz of activity.

Horsemaster Dennet was leading the mounts to the stables and a bark of laughter echoed up from the courtyard below as the returning scouts accompanying the Inquisitor and her party milled about, taking bushels of food, fabrics, and herbs and carrying them off to the corners of Skyhold. Iron Bull was slapping a man on the back, sending an orange from the basket he carried flying from the top of the pile to roll on the ground.

Pulse hammering, Cullen ran his hand through his hair in some attempt to dispel the sudden tremor in his fingers. Scanning the small crowd in the circles of torchlight, he saw no sign of the Inquisitor herself even as the numbers dwindled and dispersed across the courtyard. He searched for her far too long and judging from the direction the majority of the crowd dispersed into--he’d missed his opportunity for hot water as well.

Well, no doubt he would see her at the war table meeting later in the morning. He told himself it was not disappointment, that he did not expect...well, he didn’t know what he expected.  It had only been a handful of kisses after all. But the memory of them had burned bright, echoing warmth long after the impressions of lips and fingertips had faded. Except now, they seemed too pale, too ghostly, and they leached the heat from beneath his skin and left him feeling hollowed out and bereft.

He pulled open the door of the dilapidated tower across the battlements, similar to his but with a roof in even worse condition, if that could be believed. Candlelight spilled out in a golden puddle across the flagstones and he stopped abruptly, transfixed.

Cold air pushed in past him, tugging at the curls damply pressed against her neck and she looked up from her half-peeled orange, startled.

All at once, memories clamoured up and threatened to drown him beneath a thousand different impulses. He couldn’t move, rooted down by desires overwhelming. The space between them warped beyond reality, a chasm left by weeks of distance and tentative personal notes added in with official reports, trapping him on this precipice of wanting.

Dust motes aglow in the candlelight converged around her and he noticed, distractedly, that her hair was still dripping, forming dark splotches around the collar of her tunic. Orange completely forgotten, she smiled up at him impulsively and he could do nothing but stay absolutely still and return it.

He was being a complete idiot. But the timing was all off and now whatever he did would be awkward and fumbled--the anticlimactic note following one tremendous crescendo. If he couldn’t move, he would talk at the very least. Something, anything to end this movement of stillness and silence.  

“I...uhm...how was your journey?” Cullen broke off and studied the floor in order to conceal his wince at how ham-fisted his words were. How was it possible to practice something so much in his head and then fail so miserably in the execution?

She looked at him as if she had just caught him clumsily trying to palm a card in a game of Wicked Grace. The dark arch of her eyebrow darted up and her smile was full of hidden thoughts as she returned her attention to the orange. There was something bewitching about the movement of her hands over the stippled surface.  A shiver rippled through his blood, not from the cold.

“Depends on your views on mud and overly ripe Qunari. Mine weren’t very favorable to start with...six weeks haven’t produced any improvements."

Dilapidated wood creaked as she levered herself up from the crate in one smooth motion, “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be back.”

Her eyes flickered up at him and the candlelight cast flecks of shadow across the burnished green. There was a glint of something all too familiar there and it caught at the tight coil of compressed anticipation winding around his limbs and yanked.

Cullen surged forward, crossing the distance between them in three strides, and then her fingertips were skimming the lines of his ribs through his shirt as the space between them vanished entirely. A breath hitched into a sighing sound against his mouth. He captured it between his lips and it reverberated through his teeth with the full impact of her lips, soft and yielding and _real._

He palmed the smooth line of her neck, running his thumbs over the sweeping curves of her cheekbones. She flooded his senses, the sheer solidness of her skin beneath his hands and her mouth against his. It was relief like he’d never known it and he was helpless to stop himself from pressing harder, taking the boneless surrender of her body against his until she was pinned up against him and the wall, his leg thrust up between hers.

She kissed him with a bruising pressure, sending frissons of sharp pleasure through his spine as she pressed against his thigh, feeling the hard drag of fabric between them.  

It was all he could do to still his hands in her hair to prevent them from ripping at laces and buttons.

Dragging his mouth away was a lesson in restraint but he managed to draw away, breathing heavily against her neck as his hands unfisted from the curls falling damply over her shoulder.

“I...I’m sorry, that was…”

The absolute opposite of what he swore he would do. Despite himself, he kissed her neck between the words and trailed off senselessly, absorbed with the sharpness lingering on her skin. She smelled like the soap they kept in the washroom, harsh lye bricks that didn’t clean so well as they burned. Somehow, on her, it was almost enticing, undercutting the bright sweetness of citrus.

“Entirely too short?” she stuttered, voice gone lush and hoarse.

He slid his mouth over her frantic pulse, tasting salt and feeling his heart shudder and skip with hers. When her head tipped back in response, he took the vulnerable curve of her throat with a single-minded need that scored his teeth against flushed skin. Short, yes, it was entirely too short after all those endless weeks. What a blighted fool he had been with his resolutions for restraint.

“Uh...mmm...unfair.” she babbled, “No wonder you won our game.”

He chuckled, lips leaving her earlobe, “You cheated first”

Having reached some breaking point, she retaliated by curving her hips against him with specific intent. The movement pulled her taut and he was suddenly too aware of the way her breasts pressed up against his chest, the pulse of heat against his thigh, his own aching hardness now pinned against the soft curve of her stomach. For a moment, they had both gone completely still, pleasure numb and dazed.

Cullen moved first. His arm circled her waist and pulled her in tighter, making the process of unbuttoning her tunic with the other all the more tricky. But he didn’t mind that at all when his hand moved to her hip and pulled her down, hard, onto his thigh. Weeks of travelling had left her thinner and her hipbone was sharp against his palm as she bucked towards him.

Simultaneously, her fingertips furrowed into his hair and then pulled, forcing his head back so she could kiss him fiercely. Teeth nipped at his bottom lip and her tongue slid against his when he groaned into the kiss.

What meager experience he had with this sort of thing did not help him her tunic and in a fit of frustration, he gave up on the task and rubbed her through the cloth, feeling the tempting slide of her nipple through fabric with his fingertips. The smooth gliding motion of her hips jerked and, unable to help himself, he dropped his hand between them, pressing up against the hot juncture between her legs.

She tensed, thighs clenched tight against his, fingers clutching against his scalp as her mouth pulled away from his to cry out against his neck when her body shook and quivered erratically. He could feel the surge of damp heat with his fingertips and he continued to stroke her through the fabric, gentle and slow until the forceful trembling subsided.

Breathless, she lifted her face from his neck and met his eyes. They stared at each other not quite clearly, eyes too heavy with emotion to really focus. She was flushed and still hot and throbbing against his hand, eyes luminous and glistening as if on the verge of saying the same words lingering heavy on his own tongue.

Before she couple speak, the door slammed open and they were flying apart, both flushing darkly under the gaze of the Qunari diplomat who simply grinned knowingly and backed out the doorway again, shutting the door closed behind her.

Daylight had broken, bathing the room in watery grey light. With it came all the many reasons why he swore to control his feelings. Neither of them would be well served by distractions, they had far too many responsibilities as it was. Where would this even lead when the future was so uncertain...not just the future of Thedas but his own.

They sounded like practicality but tasted like the bitter draught of experience. He knew better than most that happiness was not the realm for men who slept with daggers under pillows.

A snicker startled him out of his self-reproach. He raised a brow, finding her gaze fixed on his foot.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just that you stepped on my orange.”

He didn’t know exactly what to say to that. It struck him in that moment that the light in her eyes when she laughed was as beautiful a thing as he’d ever seen. But when he managed to look away, he saw that she was right, the sole of his boot was covered in bright pulp.

She drew closer to him and fiddled with the fur of his cloak before leaning up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, “Well, it’s not that funny but you just looked so very _serious_ and it spoiled the whole effect completely.”

Already, his hands were smoothing over her waist, unable to resist reaffirming over and over that she was, infact, still there. His desire still thrummed, a tidal pulse rushing through his veins. Before it could overwhelm him again, he stepped back, a smile curling at the side of his mouth as he dropped his voice low.

“I beg pardon for the murder of your breakfast, Inquisitor.”

She shivered in his hands, “I was an unwitting accomplice, I could hardly sentence you too harshly.”

They were interrupted again, this time by one of the Inquisition soldiers sent to hunt them down for a summons to the war table. Breaking away, she sighed, “Well, the day awaits.”

Cullen frowned, “So it does.”

Ignoring the messenger’s hesitant presence at the door completely, she smoothed the stubbled ridge of his jaw and smiled up softly at him, “Have I mentioned how good it is to be back?”

In his chest, his heart stuttered. He smiled back, “Twice now, I think.”

“Oh good, I thought it bore repeating should you forget.”

Grasping her hand in his own, he pressed a kiss into her palm, not trusting himself to speak with the full breadth of the emotion unfurling in his chest.

He didn’t bother to tamp it back down. It was becoming apparent to him that self restraint was a wasted effort when it came to her.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I spent all last week preparing a colloqium presentation on metabolic chemistry and I was so insanely stressed out that I broke out into hives. I didn't have time to write a chapter for The Cursed Hand, but I still needed a writing outlet, so I wrote this. Apparently, when I'm academically frustrated, I skew smutty. Anyway, this was originally intended to explore the pacing of the relationship with Cullen but ended up being more smut with a only a smidgen of that stuff. For some reason, with one-shots, I prefer not to use the name of my Inquisitor. Maybe I just feel like with a short fic, its less about my experiences and more about the reader's experiences? Does that make sense? Also, my Inquisitor's name is fairly close to Leliana's and I think its confusing just to throw in there. Poor Thaliana.


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